


On this Night

by CornifyingBeatniks



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornifyingBeatniks/pseuds/CornifyingBeatniks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot in which Nick and Gatsby get tangled into recent feelings. The original ending doesn't apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On this Night

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I totally wrote this after reading "The Great Gatsby" in English class last year.

Gatsby enjoyed frequenting my cottage at the most skewed times of night. He had asked for a key when he was still fixed on dating Daisy in order to enter my house to freshen things up, this apparently calmed his anxiety. I felt annoyed at first but as the days have gone by, it feels like a routine and is a comforting part of the day knowing that another person will be in my company. Initially, I would come home to him whistling in my dimly lit kitchen as he cooked various dinners. He had told me about the days spent in a cooking class during his school years and how they really made him feel like he was fulfilling a necessary duty his parents were never particularly good at.  
"And there were the two eggs. It was almost comical about how they seemed to gaze upon me in fitted silence as if they were plotting escape." He had once said. I merely nodded in polite interest and went about my work as if he was only a buzzing fly in the kitchen. I became aware of the rude image I continued to have as he cooked meals every so often, so I acknowledged his personality and inevitable conversations and decided to stop quietly judging all together. I never realized the benefits from such an act.  
Every now and then he stayed for my usual night tea and talked of things such as the life of war, with the curtains of every window drawn back in order to watch the moving darkness outside. On those nights sometimes a sliver of wind would break from an accidental unclosed window and ruffle our spirits a bit, keeping our attention and sometimes switching the target of the conversation.  
Although, this night had a very different atmosphere about it; the air was still, his gorgeous house seemed quiet and unkept after another wild party, and, most importantly, he'd been lingering at my house all day. Not that his presence was unwanted, it was just that everywhere I turned I would find him asking me a question or starting a new conversation about his many new items and theories.  
'You know, old sport, that if you were to tell me that I was being a bother I wouldn't feel bad?"  
"You're not. It's just I'd rather not stay chipper at the beginning of another week."  
"Chipper? Is that what you call yourself on any other day?" Gatsby paused to chuckle. "I don't think that's the right word for you, old sport."  
"I don't think old sport is either."  
"Old sport is perfect for you, old sport." His tone suddenly took a serious approach from his playful one and I paused to eye him cautiously. He took a few steps forward to look me in the eye to get his point across. "Old sport is more of a…of an affectionate nickname."  
I nodded and attempted to smile at that but I was too worn out. "Goodnight Gatsby." As I opened the door to my bedroom he quickly bounded to the location and placed a firm hand on the door. My head snapped up in astonishment.  
"Don't go to bed yet." His words were surprisingly rushed yet I was still intimidated by the bold move. Gatsby cleared his throat and added with a much more playful tone; "You have company that wants your attention."  
"Is it too late to tell you you're being a bother?"  
"Nonsense, I think all you need is a change of scenery." He must have read my confused expression so he continued on, "Do something tonight that you've never done before." As he said this, he stepped closer to fix my tie and to adjust my blazer.  
"Like what?"  
"Like…sleeping in the living room instead of your bed…or inviting the company of a woman over."  
"Are you suggesting I hire a prostitute?" I smiled at his games but at the same time I grew weary of it all.  
Gatsby sighed. "Of course you could always just go back to your beckoning bed and rest your tired head. You seem irritable at the littlest of things today anyway." He stepped away from my clothing to get a good look at me. Most likely surveying his tidying work or observing how I looked in his old suits. He had a glint in his eye while he did so and I couldn't help but feel a slight prickle sensation travel lightly up my spine. I suddenly felt like I had when Mr. Mckee and I had exchanged more than just a farewell on a pervious night. Gatsby began to circle me, tilting his head just so to seem like he was scrutinizing just the smallest detail. I realized he wasn't circling me, but trying to pass me to get to his coat. To my greatest confusion, a disappointed feeling sunk to the bottom of my stomach.  
"Well, old sport, if that is all…Have a good night." He turned to walk towards my front door and I could just faintly spot the few left over lights that lingered helplessly over his shoulder beyond my window from his house. He seemed to be dully illuminated as he walked closer to my front door. I caught up with him to hastily grab his shoulder. Gatsby turned in surprise and eyed me cautiously.  
"You should sleep on the couch tonight." I stated with a slight stutter. Now who was acting like the brash imbecile. I hesitated once more due to the fact that I was acting like a bumbling fool. I took a confused but deep breath to get a hold of myself.  
He too took an expression of confusion but quickly turned it into recognition. Recognition for what I do not know.  
"I hope it's not impolite to sleep in my day clothes."  
"No…not at all. But you're more than welcome to borrow something from me."  
We were close enough to feel each other's breath on our cheeks. I paused to rethink my priorities and then I stepped aside to prepare his bed.  
"This is a refreshing change, thank you." I heard Gatsby say, but it lacked his usual color and pitch. I decided to ignore this, but the awkward atmosphere continued to creep into the picture despite my efforts. Gatsby began speaking about his day as I brought in pillows and blankets to add to his comfort on the couch. His sentences and phrases came out as if they were forced and didn't flow with the familiar lucidity that was always present in his way of speech.  
"I saw Daisy the other day. At my own party actually. She was wearing pink freesias and she was holding hands with Tom…"  
I flattened and tucked the blankets onto the couch.  
"She had a tiny smile on her face. I think she's finally happy, old sport. I think things are looking up for her. Her happiness looked genuine this time."  
I continued to flatten out the mattress to avoid his face; it was probably as sentimental as his voice sounded now.  
"Her freesias…I've never seen such pink flowers in her hair. I thought maybe she added them for a special occasion but then I thought better. Why would she bring over a celebration to my house? Well putting aside the riches she used to fantasize about…"  
I stopped and stood still with my back turned to him. There was no point to his story as far as I could tell. He was over her, that much I knew, but I couldn't shake the feeling of the strong sentimentality that his thoughts were creating. I was almost angry at my cousin. She had no right to manipulate Gatsby's head anymore, especially now that they've become estranged. I turned and walked to face Gatsby amidst his story-telling. He must've seen the glimmer in my eyes because his words suddenly trailed off.  
I leaned close to his face so that my lips were positioned beside his ear and whispered, "Forget Daisy." I barely heard his breath hitch in his throat as I kissed him. The kiss was without passion or fervor but it was quick and it made a point. As we parted I drank in the utterly confused expression on his face. Gatsby looked as if he had just seen a ghost, and finally he was the one that was speechless. Now, he knew what it was like to have a word wedged in his throat, unable to breath let alone force it out. To only be able to part his lips like a fool. Tentatively this time, I tasted him again and pressed his head closer to mine. I felt his fingers grip into the back of my shirt in a desperate attempt to grasp anything in order to avoid slipping onto the floor or perhaps reality.  
We ended up ruffling and undoing the blankets of my couch that I spent so much time preparing. Our actions had quickly escalated from the tiny kisses it seemed surreal. Our shirts were open and our hair tousled. I couldn't tell left from right, up from down. The only thing I knew was that my mind was on one clear motive; touch and kiss the body in front of me. Our tongues couldn't be stopped even if this is what we wanted. As we sat on the cushions my head felt lighter and lighter. I needed more out of this but I was at a loss on how to reach the particular high I so craved for. As if he were thinking the same thing, Gatsby suddenly had me pinned on my back, a surprised grunt escaped my mouth as he did so. I allowed him to draw kisses along my body creating new shivers and sensitive pleasures. At first he paused at my throat, which was fine, but what really made my heart race was when he traveled even lower to glide his lips against my navel. My whole body tightened when he began to lick at the area and unfortunately I let out a moan. When this happened he stopped abruptly and lifted his head to look at me. We both stared at each other and I felt the heat rising to my face. Gatsby with his eyes boring into mine and me with my chest rising and falling at a fast pace. His lips, red from kissing, suddenly turned upwards at me in a smile.  
"Nick…" I tensed even more at the sound of my name. I felt a growing sense of anger at him for stopping and also for making me squirm on the cushions. "That was…an experience, thank you." I wanted to remind Gatsby that we hardly did anything.  
"It sounds like your leaving."  
He stood up and buttoned his shirt. "Let's continue this on Thursday. I'm too tired to go on." He brought his hand up to yawn into it.  
"Wha- Thursday?" This wasn't something that you could just schedule. Somehow he turned the heat of the moment into something that could be rescheduled like a lesson.  
"Goodnight dear friend, but I think I'd prefer the comfort of my own bed tonight." He put on his jacket, nodded his head and left me, flustered and half naked, on the couch like he had when he first stopped. I almost found it humorous that I started the whole escapade but he finished it just as quickly. I decided to take a cold bath and try and spare the rest of my dignity.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to leave this on a rushed note but I can't smut bye~


End file.
